Prices We Pay
by Wholocked221
Summary: "So it's the truth, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love." - E.A.B. There are always secrets, if you are a ruler. Especially if you are Arthur Pendragon. Magic surrounded him for most of his life and encircled him tighter with Merlin. But it's possible that magic wove deeper than anyone had expected.


**_Author's Note: Honestly, not sure where this one came from. My sister and I were speaking, and I asked her if, what if we get to the last season of Merlin and, plot twist, Arthur is magic. I shared that with my bff and with 'oh my god's and headcanons and plot ideas shared, and a bus trip to Canada later... This happened. It's a multi-chapter, so expect more :). Enjoy!_**

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 _So it's true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love._

 _E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly_

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Arthur didn't like feeling powerless.

Scratch that, he _hated_ feeling powerless. He was a king, a knight. A ruler, a commander. A friend, a lover. He needed power, needed it to win battles against devious foes, to protect his people. To protect Merlin. Sometimes, Arthur _felt_ powerless, helpless, and God, he hated that. He felt like that after a battle he'd lost, carrying the body of a fallen knight back to his family. He felt like that when he watched something he couldn't stop. Oh, how he _hated_ feeling powerless.

He hated it especially when it concerned his servant. He'd never hated that feeling more than he hated it now. He was so close, but his servant, his _friend,_ his lover, was too far away. Merlin was his companion, his first friend. He'd vowed to protect him at all costs, and mostly, he felt powerless when he couldn't. He felt it now, that ache deep in his chest, burrowing into his mind and whispering, shouting, softly speaking, screaming, _you can't do it, you can't do it, you're powerless._

He stumbled forward, reaching for his sword. There was no one left, no one but felled bodies of knighuts and the rival forces alike and Merlin and _Mordred_ across the great expanse of battlefield. He could they werent just friends on a battlefield from their body language, and the apparent betrayal stung, but he didn't have time to deal with that when there was more pressing matters to deal with.

There it was, his beautiful blade. Adrenaline was pumping through him, and he almost didn't notice the bloody gash ripped in his thigh until he lurched forward, falling, falling, the dark green of the grass before his eyes before he was aware he was falling.

Panicked, he sat up, for his sword, which was still far away, _too damn far away._ He needed it in his hand now. He caught sight of the dark crimson of the blood soaking his trousers and his armor alike. A magical wound, the blood was too dark and too thick, too deep. He wasn't going to be getting anywhere, let alone across the battlefield to fight. But he couldn't just leave Merlin to die. He had to protect Merlin.

He groaned, turning so he was laying flat on his stomach in the verdure, his armored back exposed to the sun. He didn't care how exposed he was, an open target in the field, he just cared about getting that power back. He cared about helping Merlin.

He reached forward, grabbing for the hilt of his sword, but a handful of grass was all that he came up with. He pulled himself forward. Agony shot up from his leg but he clasped a whimper behind his teeth. He was too far and he'd already been too long! "Merlin," he said, his voice low. No, no. He was the king of Camelot. And the one person who meant the most to him needed his help, and he'd be damned if Merlin wasn't going to get it.

The mighty King hauled himself one for arms length, blood pounding in his ears and staining the grass beneath him. "Merlin." His groan of his companion's name was almost a cry, the consonants harsh and the 'e' stretched out, the 'i' almost missing. He wasn't going to make it. He couldn't make it, it was impossible. He couldn't make it. He _had_ to, for Merlin.

Arthur looked up, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a millisecond against the brightness of the sun before he opened them. Outlined clearly, dark against the sun, was Merlin and Mordred. Merlin stretched out his hand, and Arthur could imagine he was trying to talk down Mordred from drawing his weapon. He already had one hand tight around the hilt of his sword.

With a soft _ching_ that he couldn't hear from the seemingly impossible distance, the knight drew his weapon. Merlin took a step back, his eyes fluttering just barely over to the king for just a second. That brief eye contact that was barely even that much gave the weakened warrior enough strength to haul himself just far enough. He focused his eyes on the sword. It was so close, so close, and suddenly, he felt a surge of strength. Warmth, that he only ever associated with Merlin smiling at him flowed through his body, from his fingers to his toes, and he hauled himself forward, the fingers of his right hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon.

He had it, finally he had his glittering sword, but he was too far to do anything with it. The strength had left him, but his determination, his internal instinct to _protect_ hadn't.

Arthur pulled the sword closer to him, the grass brushing against his armor. He could hear it now, Merlin's voice, but it was nothing more than a whisper on the wind. " _Mordred, please, we're...!_ " He trailed off before he caught one last word before it was pulled away from him. " _Arthur!"_

Arthur.

Arthur.

 _Merlin._

The sun and rage turned Arthur's sight red as Merlin fumbled back and Mordred advanced, brandishing his sword dangerously, close, _too close_ to landing a blow that could sever Arthur's heartstrings.

 _Merlin._

 _Merlin._

The rage filled him, coursing through his veins. Rage and a desire to protect his own. They mixed, bubbles and frothed.

 _Merlin._

 _Merlin._

 _Mine._

 _Protect._

 _Must protect._

He wasn't quite sure what he was trying to accomplish when he did it, but his heart acted without letting his brain have a say in the matter. He _felt_ what to do next.

 _Merlin._

 _MERLIN._

He thrust his hand out, his feeling guiding him, filling him up and spilling out.

 _ **"MERLIN!"**_

His ears popped, and everything sounded muted. Mordred and Merlin both stopped, turning, at Arthur's shout. Mordred... He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't been there. He still didn't. There was some sort of dull sound, as if hearing a faraway explosion with cotton stuffed in his ears, and with gold scintillation from Arthur's fingers, his outstretched hand, barely caught in the light of the sun, Mordred _flew_ backward, landing meters away from where he'd started and not moving.

Everything was still muted and dull, his vision swimming. He couldn't see clearly, he couldn't hear... All he knew was that there was a sound akin to hoofbeats and Merlin - _Merlin_ \- was running towards him, calling to him. "Arthur!"

Arthur didn't mind feeling powerless anymore, maybe because he wasn't. Merlin was there. He had Merlin back. He had his power back. Whatever the fall out, whatever happened, he would deal with it, because he was _powerful._ He had Merlin by his side.

He felt himself slipping away, and with Merlin kneeling beside him, Merlin turning him over, Merlin holding him close, tears in his eyes, Merlin speaking words he couldn't hear... He let the darkness take him.


End file.
